Welcome to Copenhagen! Stephanie still isn’t sure what country they’re in, but by God, she hopes they speak English. Kameron enumerates the contents of her many pink packing cubes, including, but not limited to, a “swimming set,” scarves, a fur coat, “sparkle Jimmy Choo boots,” designer tennis shoes, backup tennis shoes in case the designer tennis shoes give her blisters, and a gallon-size Ziploc of snacks (which is actually very reasonable, I would have allowed her two of these).

Brandi has something special planned: Operation #IBS. Excuse me, that’s #IBD, as in “I be drinkin’,” she tells Stephanie. In order to prove that LeeAnne has previously called her an alcoholic, she plans on intentionally getting very drunk at dinner in order to lure LeeAnne into calling her an alcoholic again. Appropriately, this is the sort of scheme that only a very drunk person would think of in the first place. The play’s the thing!

The sweetbreads and tartare on the menu don’t tempt the ladies, but the complimentary shots of dill schnapps do. Skål! Brandi takes LeeAnne’s unwanted tipple (skål!), and also a third, fourth, and, oh God, fifth, and sixth (skål! Skål! Skål! Skål!). Brandi’s plot fails in that LeeAnne doesn’t take the bait, but succeeds in that she does get extremely drunk.

Important update: I was right, sort of! LeeAnne only invited D’Andra wedding dress shopping at 9 the night before, #truthbomb, etc. etc. Nevertheless, Kameron questions why D’Andra didn’t proactively call LeeAnne to find out when such an event might occur; D’Andra informs her that this is none of her business. She accuses of Kameron and LeeAnne of “ganging up” against her, which is fair, and calls Kameron “ridiculously condescending,” which is — let me double-check — yup, also fair. Kameron can be extremely annoying, and D’Andra is extremely susceptible to being annoyed.

“Calm yourself down, D’Andra. D’Andra, look at your level and your energy right now. Is this how your mother yells at you?” says Kameron, a proud graduate of the Ashley Jacobs Say the Other Person’s Name As Much As Possible Academy of Arguments.

“It’s a very slippery slope from a butt plug to a butt dart,” Kameron proclaims with complete and utter earnestness, and I genuinely have no idea what the fuck she actually means, although I’m positive it’ll be a long time before another sentence delights me quite that much. Have butt plugs literally ever been a topic of discussion on RHOD?Or is a butt plug just the most inherently immoral concept that Kameron’s SparkleBrain can possibly conjure?

I’m going with option B, thanks to this Bravo Q&A with Kameron I found by Googling “butt plugs RHOD,” though it was only the fifth result on the page. (No. 1 was an article titled “How to Use Butt Plugs to Simulate a Gang Bang (and Other Tips).”) So she says: “Some people do judge in Dallas about money, but not me, I just judge you if sex toys or butt plugs are involved.” That makes me a little sad for Kam, to be honest. Christmas is coming, and it would be my honor to personally buy her this pink bootleg Hitachi Magic Wand.

After fleeing the restaurant, Kameron and D’Andra have an extended Keystone Kops showdown on either side of the doors to the hotel’s single elevator, the opening and closing of which doesn’t deter them from continually screaming at each other. And then a second fire breaks out, inevitably, in the drought conditions of LeeAnne and D’Andra’s desiccated friendship, specifically because — I think — D’Andra says LeeAnne’s only been meditating for six months, or maybe, more implicitly, that she’s only been sane for six months?

Upstairs in their confusingly multilevel M.C. Escher suite, LeeAnne fumes to everyone who isn’t D’Andra about how D’Andra thinks she’s always right. Then D’Andra comes in, and Kameron shouts that she’s “best friends” with her mother-in-law (a statement that merits further examination at a later date), and D’Andra yells at LeeAnne to “shut up” when she chimes in.

The ex-best-friends don’t come to blows, exactly, but it’s close. Brandi, the slurring voice of reason, physically separates them while they gesture aggressively at each other.

The following night, after an unremarkable day of cooking lessons and beer tastings, we’re off to Cary’s Danish cousin’s album-release party. Camilla is cute and nice! The whole family seems cute and nice, including a particularly cute and particularly nice baby!

Together, Camilla and her husband, Johan, make up the band Eugenie, and their atmospheric, vaguely melancholy brand of indie pop is extremely not a Housewives vibe. But art-school alumna Kam is confident that she fits in, waving her hands around her face in a confessional like Edina Monsoon staggering around the dance floor at the after-party for an event she forgot to attend. (In this moment, Kameron is my favorite.)

Given that the only tangible result of Brandi’s alcoholic masquerade was a morning of prolific puking, she tries a different tack tonight. “Mama Dee told me that you called me an alcoholic,” she says to LeeAnne. Sure, she could have just gone ahead and done this in the first place, but there’s no theater in that.

When LeeAnne demurs, Cary pipes up to confirm that she did, in fact, say “alcoholic” in reference to Brandi. (She did!) “That’s a really big word,” Kameron protests, despite the fact that Cary knows Kameron was right beside LeeAnne when her ally said all nine letters of the aforementioned really big word.

Brandi tearily expresses how much this hurts her feelings, and not just because of Bruin’s not-yet-finalized adoption — she admits that she went through a period of drinking a bottle of wine a night when her marriage was on the rocks.

LeeAnne apologizes, seemingly genuinely, and then clarifies her position in a confessional.

“I don’t think Brandi is sophisticated enough to be an alcoholic,” she says. “I think Brandi’s just a drunk.” That’s the kind of burn that’ll almost certainly require a skin graft.